by Shey Stahl
He choked on his laughter.
Yeah, choke on that squid, you pig!
But then I had to agree with him. An arrest record, if there was one, would at least be a start on getting some personal information on Destry.
I could write this article—I loved research after all, and that was all any good article was about. I’d get the dirt on Destry without his input. Research and interviews were my stomping grounds.
“If you could get anything on him, it could work, Jared. I need to have something to go on because he’s not spilling a thing.”
Oh. My. God. Did I just say he’s not spilling a thing? After what I saw spilling in the shower… it had me squirming in my seat and cheeks burning yet again.
Jared smirked like he knew exactly what I’d witnessed. That motherfucker better not say a damn thing to me.
As quickly as I could, I changed the subject and picked up the menu. “I’m starving.”
I sighed, well, almost cried, as I ordered a glass of water, salad with dressing on the side, and blackened salmon. All the while Jared shoveled a few more pieces of calamari in his mouth and ordered an appetizer of crab cakes. Saddest day of my life.
I hated him right then, absolutely hated him. Catie was no better. She was right along with him eating crab by the pound, which I stole a few bites of. Crab was fat free, right?
I needed to seriously rethink the alliances I made in this world, or at least the restaurant choices they made.
A defensive move where a fighter leans away from or pulls back from to avoid being hit.
Tuesday morning, I pulled out my laptop and did some research on Destry… after I stalked Silas’s Twitter feed. Nothing had been posted other than a picture of him performing in Atlanta.
I felt a little weird about it too. Here I was stalking Silas, but I could not get those images of Destry out of my head. In fact, they were on repeat. My own personal sexy slide show.
Google was helpful and gave me all the details on James and Denise, Destry’s parents. Unfortunately, it didn’t give me a lot on Stella Summers. I knew by the interaction with her the other night, his shifting of moods had to do with her. And knowing she left him after that fight, he had a right to be bitter. No guy was that bitter without a woman fucking them over. I had learned that from my ex-boss. She fucked so many guys over that she had her own hate page on the internet.
Jared came home around noon, pleasantly happy the door was locked, holding a folder of what appeared to be Destry’s arrest record. And it was thick. Minor shit like disturbing the peace, vandalism, but then there was a vehicle theft.
“It was his car so technically he didn’t steal it,” Jared noted, shrugging, his thumbs tucked in his bulletproof vest. “He was just taking it back, apparently, but she called the police on him anyways.”
“Who?”
“His ex, Stella Summers.”
“Oh.” I looked through the rest of the folder and then to Jared. “Isn’t this illegal for me to have this?”
“Yes. Don’t tell anyone where you got it from and we’re good.” He smiled, heading for the door. “I should have been a fucking detective.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” And then I remembered it was Tuesday. “Tacos tonight?”
“Yeah.” Jared nodded walking backwards. “I’m off at five.”
“Okay.”
I had been good all week. I was having tacos tonight.
When Jared left, I searched YouTube and decided it was time to watch this boy fight. After setting my notepad beside me, I typed in Stone vs. Lucas.
Hundreds of videos popped up.
I clicked on the one titled: Knock out that was five minutes long.
They actually started that video with the introductions. The whole production of a fight, which I had never been to, was unreal. It was like a rock concert. “Here is your heavyweight champion of the world, Destry Stone!” Then Destry appeared from the shadows, stone faced and silent as he made the slow walk toward the ring while Linkin Park’s “Wretches and Kings” blared.
They went through all the introductions, said those famous words I knew, “Let’s get ready to rumble!”
Various lines in the commentary caught my attention.
“He’s in the best physical and mental state he’s ever been. This is just an upset for everyone.”
As the fight progressed, round after round, it looked like Destry had the upper hand.
“He’s good at keeping his distance and he doesn’t move back into the ropes, he moves around his opponent. Lucas can’t stand directly in front of Stone that way. It’s disaster. He’s not feeling him out at all. He’s just positioning himself in front of him, flat footed. He’s not moving, and Stone sees that. It’s only a matter of time before he finds the right combination and ends the fight.”
Then round five approached and Destry was a different fighter all together. His attention was on the crowd, more importantly on Stella, who was seated to his right. Every few seconds, he’d glance at her. And then he just stood there. Kept backing away and ending up in the ropes. Lucas had him in the ropes, delivering jab after jab when he came back with a left hook, and a blow to the side of his head. Destry went down. He didn’t even try to get up.
“It’s over. We have a brand-new heavyweight champion of the world!”
The camera spun to Destry, now standing in the corner with his trainer, only his eyes weren’t on the belt being handed to the new WBC champion of the world.
It was on his girl walking out on him.
I sat there staring at the screen that I’d paused on Destry’s face. No wonder the guy’s such a dick to everyone.
I then searched Destry Stone and Stella Summers to see what came up.
It was image after image of them together at various events, in Seattle, on vacation, you name it, for years. It was clear he adored her with the look on his face in the photographs.
That, my friends, was a man in love. No doubt. The man in those pictures was different from the man I saw five days a week.
I LEFT for a couple hours to pick up my dry cleaning and then get my nails done. By the time I got back, Jared was home and the comforting smell of flank steak tacos was filling the hallway.
When I was inside our apartment and set my bags down, I glanced around expecting Catie to be there. “Where’s Catie?”
Jared didn’t look up from his chopping as he prepared his salsa. “Home, I guess.”
“You didn’t invite her?”
“Why would I? Taco Tuesday is our thing.”
I smiled, liking that Jared and I had a thing.
No matter how close I was to Catie—because she was the only girlfriend I tolerated—it would never compare to the comfort I had around Jared. There was nothing I couldn’t tell him. Sure, sometimes he made fun of me, but then there were times where he told me exactly what I needed to hear. A man’s unbiased point of view. Like, hey, those pants are too tight for you. Which, we could all agree, was true. I had to have them cut off me.
So, naturally, he knew something was up with me immediately. “What’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird since the Crab Pot.”
I shrugged, trying to distract him with the new chips I’d picked up to go with the salsa. “These are made fresh every day.”
He reached forward and grabbed the bag. “Are you mad Catie was at lunch with us yesterday?”
He was so far off the mark that I had to set him straight now. With a deep inhale, I blurted, “I saw Destry jerking off in the shower yesterday.”
Jared stopped chopping, maybe even stopped breathing. His reaction was somewhat entertaining. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. You wouldn’t know he was going to say anything by his impassive stare, but then a smile quirked his lips. “Why were you watching?”
“I didn’t mean to.” I braced my hands on the counter and leaned in. “I needed to change. He was in there. I stayed and watched. Now I feel guilty.”
“You should feel guilty. We do t
hat shit in private.”
I laughed when he said “we” because I knew damn well Jared still jerked off. He may be twenty-three, but he still indulged in the self-pleasure. No man spent forty-five minutes in the shower without doing that. “You’re missing the point.”
Jared was quiet, his eyes dropped from mine to the cutting board. “Have you caught me?”
“No.” I laughed.
“Good.”
“Well, not this week, anyway.” A huge grin spread over my face.
He threw some cilantro at me. “Seriously? And you’re one to talk. I know you keep a vibrator in your top drawer.”
“Stop going through my drawers.” Picking wet green pieces from my cheek, I sighed dramatically. “Should I say anything to him?”
“No.” Jared shook his head immediately. “Don’t. Just pretend you didn’t see anything.”
“I’m not sure I can look at him again. It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I mean, that was….” My cheeks flushed remembering the way his body bent over when he came. “It was… sexy.”
He snorted. “I don’t think I need to hear this. I want to enjoy my tacos and not think of a guy beating off in the shower.”
“Oh, come on, you said you wanted to know what was wrong. So I told you.”
“No, I asked you if it was because of Catie. If I would have known it had to do with Destry, and him in the shower, I wouldn’t have asked.”
Our conversation slowed as we prepared dinner but when we sat down at the table, I had to ask, “So, what’s really with you and Catie?”
Jared brought random girls home every once in a while, but for the last six months, it had only been Catie. I found that interesting. Jared, he did not. “We’re just fucking, Tallan.” He took a bite of his taco, chewing slowly, and then added, “There’s nothing to it.”
Such a guy thing to say. I took a chip and loaded it with salsa. “So, you don’t love her?” I then shoved the chip in my mouth.
“No.” He grunted, annoyed I was prying. “Not in that way.”
“And how does she feel?”
“We haven’t talked about it. I think she’s sleeping with a guy she works with too.”
“Oh.” My eyes dropped from his face to my taco I hadn’t touched yet. Poor neglected taco. Instead I’d been feasting on chips and salsa.
Shrugging, he took a drink of his beer and then rested his elbows on the table preparing to eat his second taco. “We never said we were exclusive so I can’t be too bent.”
“But you want to be… exclusive?”
“I don’t even know anymore. I’m focused on getting this probation year over with and then I guess I’ll see what happens.”
The look he gave me told me he had feelings for Catie. He just wasn’t sure what they meant.
I could relate.
A term used to describe the type of fighter, who although may be outclassed, still possesses the kind of knock out power to end a fight with one punch. He could clearly not outbox his opponent but would always have a chance to win based on his power.
When I got to the bar that night and down to the basement, Destry was in the ring with another guy sparring. Immediately he had my attention because I’d never seen him in the ring, let alone sparring with someone.
Danny stood near the weights, his arms crossed over his black T-shirt that read Danny’s on the back. I looked at Danny and weighed my options. If anyone would give me the real scoop on Destry Stone, it would be his uncle, right?
Casually, I made my way over to him, trying not to appear too obvious. When he noticed me, he smiled slightly. “Hey, Tallan.”
“Hey, Danny.” I gestured to Destry with a nod. “I gotta ask, what’s his deal?” I wasn’t wasting any time.
“What do you mean?”
I raised an eyebrow, as if to say, you can’t be serious.
The hint of a smile Danny had dropped. I didn’t think Danny wanted to answer me truthfully. But he did answer. “He’s angry.”
Angry was an understatement for Destry. Just watching him now, it was apparent. That’d be like saying the Hulk was having a bad day when he turned green.
Always needing to delve, I wouldn’t be a journalist if I didn’t pry, and I always pried. I wanted to know every single detail about his life and not for the article. I was genuinely interested in him. Hell, I was fascinated by him. “Has he always been this way?”
Danny contemplated answering me again, and then said, “No. He hasn’t. He was a happy kid, for a while, and then life happened, and it knocked him down. He always found a way to win. An advantage. But he couldn’t that night.” Danny’s voice had a distance to it I didn’t quite understand. As if he was talking about someone who had died.
In a way, a part of Destry did die that night. You could easily see that watching the video of that fight.
The commotion in the ring caught my attention.
The way Destry jabbed at the guy, I couldn’t keep up with how fast he was. The power, the determination, the skill, it was all impressive to me, and unbelievably hot.
He bounced on the balls of his feet, his footwork fast as he paced his sparring partner with impeccable quickness behind his powerful hits. In awe at his ability, strength, and control in the ring, I knew then there was no way he lost that fight. No fucking way a guy like him wasn’t ready. Something else was at play that night.
Honestly, I felt bad for his sparring partner. Poor guy couldn’t see the punches coming at him, let alone defend himself against them. He would recover for a moment, shaking his head from a blow, only to have Destry deliver another, then a body shot and a right jab.
With a grunt, he fell to his knees before Destry, waving a gloved hand at him. “I’m done, Destry.”
Nodding, Destry bumped his glove to the guy and then twisted to the side, spitting out his mouth guard. He turned and saw me standing there for the first time and our eyes locked.
Usually Destry didn’t look at me long. There were fleeting glances, but for some reason, he stared at me right then and I was trapped, unable to lift my gaze from his. The world shifted with that look.
Immediately, his naked body was in my mind and gone was that white T-shirt he was wearing and those black shorts all but evaporated. All I saw in that moment was him naked in the shower. Touching himself. That moment would forever be burned into my memory. No complaints there.
Adam, his trainer, approached him, giving him feedback, showing him video footage on his phone of the sparring sessions and then dropping his shoulder to give him an example.
Destry was intently listening to him. Which surprised me because judging by my interactions with him, he’s a talker, not a listener. He barely gave anyone the time of day, yet he was focused and listening to feedback. Who knew it was possible.
And believe it or not, I learned a lot about Destry when he wasn’t looking or when he was interacting with others. Quietly confident, he had a sense of arrogance, yes, but it wasn’t displayed in the ways you would think. His stance, focus, and carefully chosen words. He was a different person around me, so seeing this side of him had me captivated and desperately wanting to know about him.
When his trainer left, Destry approached me as I sat on the mats stretching out my legs. The dread was already setting in that I’d be working my ass off again tonight. My calf was still sore, but it wasn’t as bad as before. He was right, ice helped.
“Let’s start with a run.” His foot lightly kicked at my thigh as his hand reached out to help me up. His left hand. The one that two nights ago was touching his dick.
Take that hand, Tallan. Lick it! Suck on his damn fingers! Shove it between your legs and moan his name!
God. Help. Me.
Smirking, he winked at me. “You’re gonna do two full miles today,” he noted, helping me stand. “I’m gonna make sure you can’t walk by the end of tonight.”
Fuck, yeah! Wait, he’s talking about working out, isn’t he?
I wasn’t sure whether I
should have been afraid of Destry or simply laugh at him. Was he crazy? How the hell was I going to do a two-mile run without dying? Surely it was impossible.
“The fuck you say?” Reaching up, I pushed my hair out of my eyes. “I don’t understand the purpose of running. Unless someone is chasing you.”
Neither one of us broke eye contact because I could be a shithead too. He’d met his equal when it came to shitheads and I thought, no, I knew by the way he was staring at me, he realized it right then. “Okay…” He paused and leaned into the wall, his head bent forward but his eyes lifted to meet mine. “Cardio gives you endurance. Think of it that way. You want endurance, don’t you?”
Goddamn him. He was being suggestive on purpose. I knew it. So… we went for a goddamn run and the only thing chasing me was my jiggly ass cheeks.
During those two miles, I was always running to keep up with him because there was no way I would let him run behind me and see the very thing I was here to rid myself of. Two fucking miles. Might as well have been two hundred because I wanted to die when I was done and contemplated having Mr. Gravity help me out again by rolling down the stairs to the basement. And amazingly, I went the full two miles. Just one week ago you couldn’t get me to run a block. Might as well enter a marathon tomorrow and call me Shalane Flangan.
Instead, I held onto the handrail and prayed to the gods with each downward step.
Back in the basement, I lay face-first on the mats, panting and holding my calf. It still hurt, only now it was cramping up.
Destry noticed me and narrowed his eyes on my calf. “Do you want me to massage it again?”
No, but you could massage my clit for me.
“No.” I turned over and flopped myself on my back, my arms spread out wide. “That’s okay.”
“Take a bath in ice.” I peeked one eye open when he spoke. His stare was unnerving. “It helps.”
He was quiet for a moment as I sat up and watched him as he leaned into the wall about five feet from me.
“I don’t have a bathtub. Only a shower.”